Long Centipede Poems
Long Centipede Poems. Below are the most popular long Centipede by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Centipede poems by poem length and keyword.
As the air gently blow it whistle,
Thoughts are swirling slowly in brain;
Jaunt to the fingers slowly
As a crawling centipede, nurture it and let
It spirit drop in to your pen like some
Water spills on the floor and spread.
After it's being written,
Make a review to avoid mistake.
Post it on soup, be expecting variety
Of comments because your aim to join soup is to
Know more about poetry.
Some comments may
Be harsh or kind,lodged in the heart
Like a heavy stone or lodged in the in the heart like a
Strand of a cluster of cotton wool.
My advise to new writers.
Anyone which comes your way absorb and digest it,
Make use of what is yours in it and
Make no allay of yourself.
Some personal issues may also stand as an obstacle,
Make no allay of yourself.
But people here on soup are generous
They always give their support.
As a new writers we need your help,
You that have much knowledge of poetry than we do.
Any mistake or misused of words in our poem,
Please do notify us we count on you.
22/May/2015.
Contest: Advice for new writers.
Sponsor: Tyshawn Knight.
Willy the one legged centipede
Often would wish that he could be freed
He should be so speedy and whizzing about
But not with his one little leg sticking out
He’d sit in the street with an upturned hat
And people would throw lots of money in that
He wished he was ‘full’ but was so incomplete
For with just one leg he must beg in the street
One freezing day in the middle of winter
A beetle passed by and said, Wow, that’s some splinter
The centipede told him, That splinter’s my leg
I only have one and so I have to beg
I’m sorry, said Beetle, that splinter is wood
I could pull it out and I think that I should
Pulling the splinter made Centipede squirm
But that’s how he found out he’s really a worm
Spring is in its prime again
each leaf beautiful
much is edible
birds and peepers are musical at dawn.
The days walk slowly
toward Utah and Italy.
My left nut hurts.
Joy overwrites death.
Well, well. You're well
alone in your brain
only a negligible fraction
escaping as words and actions.
Every leaf that's coming out
is out. Including the self
to the west and south
a golem, mandragon, an elf.
Aaron was stacking
the last of last year's
firewood. He found
a spotted salamander--
Ambystoma maculatum--
Big mouth--hidden
under the final log
with a worm and centipede for a meal.
I exclaimed Rare species!
but it's common, fossorial
lives in moist woods
under cemetery stones and memorials.
Eats earthworms,
snails, slugs
insect larvae
and adult beetles.
Made a candle from my ear wax
It allows me to see things more clearly
Made a pillow from my belly button lint
I can still hear it grumbling
Bought a nose hair trimmer
Don’t ask
Made a “you too” video
My pet slug ran away
It took him three weeks
Had the bird’s wings clipped
Now he sits there muttering WTF
The teacher said “take a seat”
I did…they made me bring it back
Taught a centipede to tap dance
Big mistake
Gave a mouse a cookie
See above
Let a sleeping dog lie
He ran for Congress
Hung a wet paint sign
On the Rose Bush
Buttered the bread on both sides
Just to be sure
Luminous as a star jointed at the seam with darkly hue, it
Imbibes the centipede of heaven's bliss and then releases
Quizinary scents of blueberry sachets. Permeating the night
Undulating it to motion with liquid verbosity it is light itself
Invigorated by the ocean sprays , it tells my fingers to
Do the math, " I am as moon as the star is star " it says
Legendary as a module of the starry sky it enhances and
Umpires the realm of my sweet imagination
Nuptially, it marries me in and inspires me to
Amalgamate myself to its lustre and twinkle
Laces of light emit from far and wide, she is clandestine
Alleviating all my worries for another day. I am a mere spectator
Clinging to the notion that some day I will join her crescent
Endearing me to her heart, she is my lantern in the night...
March 6, 2019
Have you ever wondered what music animals dance to? Could you imagine doing the bop with a kangaroo?
You could tango with a lioness or you could do the fox trot with a giraffe in a dress?
Rock and roll with some bees in their hive all dancing to the Bee Gees, staying alive
A crocodile listening to classical music, wearing snake skin shoes, or maybe a hyena that is listening to the blues
You could meet a centipede in a pair of tight pants, throwing his leg in the air, listening to River dance.
Maybe there are some rabbits chilling with some soul, really getting in the mood in their rabbit hole
There might be a snake that seems to be getting longer only to be joined by other snakes to make up the conga
Now a bat might be high up in his roost, playing Black Sabbath. very loud just to give his ego a boost
Now an elephant just likes stomping around. He doesn’t know who it is. He just liked the music sound
I have heard of an animal who seems to favour punk but stays away from that crazy little skunk
So if animals like dancing to music and dance the night away, that could explain to me why my dog sleeps all day
(for Gahan Wilson)
Mushroom stew, mushroom stew
Nothing more or less will do
Needs no spice, no barley rice,
Laced with wine would not be nice.
Every morning, noon and night
Mushroom buttons grace my plate
With my fork and spoon and knife
Feasting till the hour is late.
A tasty brew is mushroom stew
Makes you dream and makes you scream
Eat some and I promise you
You'll become a mushroom, too.
"Mushroom Stew" appeared in my newsletter Mushroom Stew 1, 1975. It was collected in the big omnibus Anthony Shriek: His Doleful Adventures; or, Lovers of Another Realm (Centipede Press, 2017), containing the horror novel plus a second book's worth of short stories, novelettes, poems, and "odd end pieces."
big bulbs flashed like a discotheque strobe light.
it’s always midnight.
his breath filled the cavernous abyss.
his heart at risk of jumping to its death.
the shell of his flesh colder than a poikilotherm.
shudder of his lens.
a missing eye, a snake besides.
the hair on his arms like spikes.
why’d he follow trouble below the Patapsco River?
his eyes blood orange like the eagle owl.
too late to remember that curiosity killed the cat.
the narrow way wolf gray and white.
the body left in the open. the killer knew
he attracted an extra hide, and Justin
knew he was being hunted. this tunnel abandoned
since the lockdown. he followed the dodge
which had a hand hanging out through the brake light
red and waving.
he witnessed the whisk,
away the icy serpent flew.
Justin could feel his hot breath
the beast with centipede eyes.
he knows he’ll never make it out alive
even as he takes shot after shot.
the scream, the screech
of a van down the street.
he jumps in.
Go! Go! Go!
the tire wheels spin and smoke.
no time to choke.
van stops —
the director yells cut
1/26/2021
MURDER IN THE TUNNEL
SPONSOR: Kai Neumann
The soldier ants played the elephants
In a soccer match in the jungle.
Whoever arranged the fixture list,
Had clearly made a bungle
It was a bit one-sided,
Which will come as no surprise.
The elephants had an advantage,
Due to superior size.
They won nearly all the high balls,
Which obviously took its toll.
And, even if the ants had a shot,
The goalkeeper filled the goal.
At half-time it was twenty-nil,
But the brave ants hadn’t lost heart.
It’s not the winning that matters,
It’s all about taking part.
At the start of the second half,
They brought a substitute on.
Their latest foreign signing,
A centipede named Juan
He made an immediate impact,
Showing incredible pluck.
And forty-five seconds into the half,
He’d broken the soldier ant’s duck
He continued to weave his magic,
Scoring goals for fun,
And, with ninety minutes on the clock,
He scored the winning one.
The captains shook hands at the end.
The elephant said, “Well done”
And said that he was most impressed
By the substitute called Juan
But what he couldn’t understand, he said,
“He’s so vital to your winning,
Why don’t you include him
Right from the beginning?
The ant said, “We would like to,
Because he’s one of our aces.
But it takes him forty-five minutes
To do up all his laces.”
three wicked moons ago, we flew to a halloween get-away
on the beach island frilled with dangling bouquets.” no
costumes , please”, the invitation loudly read.. so off i went,
the brood still washing their heads… in simple sundress, my eyes
kept singing la-la-la. the hall was empty, freaky lights went off. in a flick,
witches were brewing black, fangy cats... a lady gaga
spiking screams, then came a judas hanging on a centipede tree,
by the false door, tattooed skeletons dancing squeaky reggae.
suffocating in a terrorized room, i hollered,” where’s my family!!”
what a viciously naughty night! they were all dressed in
ghostly ghoul and goblin witchery, tickling my almost bare body
just behind me… oh well, it’s october’s time to slay the night
and i was the pawn, the surprised victim, crackling with nervous delight
( for paula swanson's halloween of years past)